Into Dust
by Girly-Vamp
Summary: The life and times of Christine Daae, circa December 1887. E/C
1. Prologue

Prologue  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera novel by Gaston Leroux, or the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber. It's their world- I just play in it.  
  
The sound of a register popping open with a metallic click filled the stale store air.  
  
"Your total purchase comes to five francs, Madame."  
  
A charming smile that didn't reach her eyes and a hand extended for payment. A barely registered twitch of her mouth was given when the plump woman who now held her complete attention as "valued customer" asked the store's policy for returns.  
  
As she watched the two chins of her face move in question, the cashier couldn't help but be reminded of an old working rival of hers at her old job. The Spanish accent didn't help matters either.  
  
"Why, yes, we have an even exchange policy. If the dress doesn't fit your daughter as planned, you can bring back the undamaged garment with your receipt for a new one in a different size."  
  
A curt nod, and the woman walked out of the store with her well boxed dresses filling her big arms, the tinkling of the bell attached to the doorframe resonating in her wake.  
  
The store was left empty, and the cashier began to buzz around fixing clothes laying in wrinkled distress on racks, pausing to fold shelved undergarments into pristine squares of lace and silk. She only stopped when the bell sounded again, but relaxed as she saw it was only Madame Jacob, the store's elderly owner.  
  
"Hello, my Dear, how have things been?"  
  
As was usual, the woman set about behind the counter, into the small office/kitchen that was in a room veiled from the eyes of their customers by a sheet of black silk she had strung up as a divider between it and the cashier area.  
  
"Fine Madame Jacob, I finally sold that blue and pink dress that's been laying around for so long abouttwenty minutes ago."  
  
A surprised raise of pure white eyebrows met her answer. "That cheap looking piece of garbage that dress company sent me by accident? I thought we'd never be rid of it."  
  
"A Madame Farias bought it earlier today."  
  
"Farias? What is a Portuguese woman doing in Paris this time of the year? It's the middle of winter."  
  
"She wasn't Portuguese, she was Spanish."  
  
When Madame Jacob asked how she knew; the cashier obliged her with an answer without thinking. "Portuguese accents have a more guttural quality than Spanish ones. They have similar pitches, and I wouldn't have been able to tell if she hadn't spoken such bad French. She was using all the wrong accents and."  
  
The cashier began to trail off when she realized that her boss was staring at her with a pointedly suspired glance as she handed her the tea she had brewed for them.  
  
"Sometimes, my darling Christine, I wonder where you learned all this random information you're so good at spouting off."  
  
Christine Daae turned her back to her boss and looked outside the office window that faced the alley, noticing that the snow had just begun to fall over the city. She would thankful for her little flat two floors above the store (the first floor one belonging to Madame Jacob, who acted as her landlord-ess as well as manager) so that she wouldn't need to leave the warmth of the building to venture into the snow now that her shift had ended, but at the question of said boss, Christine suddenly felt very cold.  
  
"An old teacher of mine taught me. he knew a lot about that sort of thing."  
  
"Oh yes, you used to be an Opera singer!"  
  
If the kindly Madame Jacob's eyes weren't dimly focused on the flakes outside her window, she might have noticed how Christine's shoulder's sagged at that exclamation.  
  
"Well, I was mainly a ballet dancer. I only performed in a few Opera's. I got sick of the limelight very fast."  
  
Madame Jacob issued a kindly chuckle over the steam of the green tea she had bought from a small specialty shop nearby. She had purchased it specifically for her and Christine's use, knowing how neither of them liked the richer taste of the Earl Grey most Parisian's seemed to favor at the time. "My Christine, you were never one who seemed to fill the description of diva very well."  
  
She set her wrinkled palm on the cold top of Christine's cold hand, the one that rested on the desk she sat near as she absently sipped her tea. "You have much too good a heart for that sort of thing."  
  
Christine let loose a little laugh that held only the barest traces of desperation on it. "Maybe now, yes, but then I craved that light as much as anyone could."  
  
Madame Jacob gave her a confused look. Just that Christine was talking about her past was strange enough, but the girl issuing details of this sort was a rare occasion, indeed. As much as she loved the apparently friendless dark haired cashier who gave half her pay back to her each week for her rent, she had to admit she was extremely private.  
  
I would be too, if I had been through such a public break-up with my fiancé, like her.  
  
As little as Madame Jacob knew about Christine's past Opera career, no one in Paris could help but know about the exploding engagement involving her and her apparent boozer of an ex-fiancé Raoul de Changy, who had nearly beaten the young girl to death after a rather astounding row about her feelings for some previous boyfriend or another. Christine's discovery by a policeman in an alleyway had made the papers by day break after that awful evening, as did Monsieur Changy's highly publicized trial and prosecution afterwards.  
  
Since Christine's arrival at her store seeking work as a cashier to her eventual renting of the vacant second floor apartment, they had never spoken of that incident. Madame Jacob even knew better than to openly stare at the scar from Monsieur Changy's knife that would forever mare the left side of her beautiful face.  
  
Madame Jacob loved when Christine talked, feeling from the raising of five healthy children who now lived spread across France, that her silence was no good for her mental wellness. So with blind curiosity and a only slightly misguided desire to help blocking any need for the tact she usually used with her cashier and tenant, she asked, "What made you back away from stardom then?"  
  
Christine's eyes were focused on the Paris Opera house, who's top was visible past the buildings surrounding their store-cum-apartment house. "I was too afraid to go after what I wanted, I supposed."  
  
Madame Jacob could've sworn Christine's eyes were starting to mist as she curtly thanked her for the tea and excused herself to her flat, claiming post work fatigue.  
  
Poor girl, Madame Jacob thought, must have been too much too soon for her. 


	2. Chapter 1

Into Dust Chapter 1  
Disclaimer: Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber own this park. I just like to sit in the trees and dream about the big kids on the jungle gym.  
Thick white snow blanketed Paris that evening, causing most of the little side shops in the center of the city to shut down. This including "Bella's Ladies Wear," which Madame Jacob closed about an hour after had Christine rushed up to her flat.  
  
Christine knew this not from any announcement from Madame Jacob, but from the dimming of the electrically run sign just below the window she liked to sit next to. She preferred that window to the one next to her small heater because it gave her a view of the Paris skyline that included the outline of her familiar opera house, which the other did not.  
  
After her 10-hour workday at the dress boutique, she normally changed into her night things and sat by that window on a wooden stool, watching the city life from her second-story view. Some nights Christine would spend hours reading books from the library down the street or just looking out at the sky lost in her own thoughts. She only left the building out of necessity for food or reading material.  
  
Christine never listened to any form of music anymore, and she hadn't sung in about a year. Raoul had quickly curbed her desire to sing with his raging temper, boldly proclaiming to her that no wife of his would be a, "gutter-fed opera trollop."  
  
And she had loved Raoul so dearly then, and it only seemed right to do whatever he asked.  
  
ISo many sacrifices, I she thought bitterly. ISo much lost and the only thing to show for it is a scar on my cheek. /I  
  
And unknowingly, Christine touched this scar as she starred out at a Paris she had become utterly lost to. She knew she was no longer and could never be an opera singer again. Too much of her practiced voice had wilted away, for it was even rare for her to speak anymore. And despite her fleeting popularity from her short run as a diva, she was considered by most a novice at best.  
  
She recalled a line from a newspaper report on the tragedies that had plagued the Paris Opera House, where a critical journalist had called her, "A student who should have absorbed more from a proper instructor before going out as a performer, because in about a year or two's time she could have been truly magnificent."  
  
IAnd what's a student without her teacher there to guide her? /I, Christine thought bleakly. A depraved sort of chuckle escaped her lips. Christine laughed a lot when she was alone- it was never because of anything funny. It was always because she was thinking of him.  
  
After the events of last year, it was rare when the thought of the legendary Phantom of the Opera brought anyone to laughter, yet Christine Daae intimacy with the situation gave her the privilege to.  
  
It hadn't taken long after Christine's emergence from Erik's underground home to realize she had done wrong thing as far as going with Raoul went. A little under a week had gone by before she had become aware that his temper could possibly outmatch her Phantom's as he a railed against her singing career with all his fury.  
  
Christine, seeing the chance for a fresh start free of her old opera demons, had reluctantly folded to her betrothed and canceled plans to sign for a year-long contract with the opera house the next day. She had thought that would be the end of her problems.  
  
Yet Raoul's short temper wasn't his only fault. She had noticed the signs of his alcoholism right after her messy parting from the opera house, and had briefly become victim to his physical abuse a few times before that dark night after dinner.  
  
Christine blinked back tears and miserably wished she had Erik there with her then. She had been sure her Phantom would make an appearance after the embarrassingly public trial of the Vicomte, in which she had to testify against her fiancé for all of France to see.  
  
But Erik had not come. No entrance on a hotel balcony one rainy night, no roses, no threats of death towards Raoul, no IErik. /I And it had only been recently when Christine realized that she would probably never see Erik again, as he could possibly be either dead or just no longer overly concerned for Christine's welfare.  
  
IWell, Christine, /I she thought Iof course he hates you. You left him to be killed by a rampaging mob, or at least to rot alone and unloved under the opera forever. /I  
  
In retrospect, Christine could see that she hadn't really had much of a choice as Erik had practically thrown her out of his underground lair, threatening to kill her fiancé if she didn't leave, all the while. The mob of frightened opera-going Parisians hadn't made things any easier.  
  
Once she and Raoul had risen to the top floors of the opera, Christine could tell by the general disarray of the backstage how bloodthirsty the crowd was. But she had left with her Vicomte as soon as possible, hearing later in the week from Madame Giry that Erik himself (nor any other body) had been found under the opera house.  
  
Christine ceased her nightly melancholy reflections to turn her few gaslights off and go to bed. That night, like most others, she dreamed of her Erik with a slight smile gracing her now marred features.  
Author's Notes: Two chapters in two nights- go me. If you feel at all inclined to assist a hopefully improving author, please throw her a bone and leave a review. And to those who did.  
  
BSoldier of Darkness/B: Erik's been a little disconnected from the real world for the past year. He'll be making an appearance shortly, but he won't really be aware of Christine's situation until later.  
  
BMidnight Rain/B: Yeah, that'll be his first inclination when he finds out, unless someone could possibly restrain him.  
  
(Girly-Vamp 2003 


End file.
